


The Deaths

by riversongobsessed



Category: Macbeth - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Very Bad Writing, mention of child death, mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 12:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4101811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riversongobsessed/pseuds/riversongobsessed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a flash fiction project. Follows Lady Macbeth's thoughts on the deaths taking place before and during the play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Deaths

There have been four deaths, before today, before the fifth. 

There was the Son, the Father, the Brother and the Mother and although I may not have seen it then I see now that I was accountable for their deaths. Even if it had not been my intention every time. 

The Son was never meant to die, he was to live and be strong and happy and die in old age with children of his own. He was my son. But I had mere weeks with him. He smiled at me and it is a sight that haunts the dreams that swiftly turn to nightmares. That boneless smile, too good to remain in this world of war. His death was silent and in the dead of night, unnoticed until morning when the Son no longer cried for milk. The physician told me it was not my fault. But what mother cannot protect her only babe?

The next death mirrored the first in someways. It too was in the dead of night. But the holy cleanliness of the Son's was overruled by the bloody sin of the Father's. He was like a Father to me, since my own passed in the years previous: "Had he not resembled My father as he slept, I had done ’t." I told myself that, to make the deed easier to deal with. I thought I managed to convince myself of it. But I see now that by then I had changed enough that I was so far from my true self that if needed, could have taken the task.

My poor husband. He did deed but did not stop and I did not try to make him. An old friend, an almost brother, was next to die. No plans were discussed with me any longer. It was the same for the fourth; for the Mother. If I could have stopped it I would have. If only I had known. No Mother should see her child die and no man should lose his whole family in one night. She was a friend to me once, but no more. No more friends, no more smiles (false or otherwise). 

The deaths, no, the murders, follow me in sleep, I write of plans and love. I read of prophecies and battles. I fold and send to Him just as I did before the nightmare began. This never ending nightmare. The blood. It once went so easily from my skin but now never fades. Always a dot, always a spot. The need to wash returns. 

My poor husband. His loss I feel sharper than any other before despite him being here in the physical sense. He is no longer my Partner of Greatness nor am I his. No. By pushing away the idea of guilt, of this mind's sickness I pushed him away. So lost in his own mind he was not there, is not here, to help me now my own is attacked. The guilt and the madness, the madness and the guilt. They crept in my mind hand in hand like a worm would to the rotten core of fruit; inevitable and slowly.   
There will be another death before the night is out. I can see it now, the edge. It is ever closer. His 'fiend-like Queen' they call me. They do not know the other roles I took, the roles I lost; the Mother, the Partner, the Wife. All lost now. All meaningless. Direst cruelty is what I wanted, is what I begged for. But I did not expect to inflict the cruelty to my own soul. 

The edge is high, a wind is wailing in my ear, a sorrowful sound but almost mournful. Almost fitting. Another step and I fall. I know what waits for me just as my husband did on the very first night but I no longer care. Just as long as it is far away from the rotten core of minds long ill.


End file.
